


colder water.

by tevinterr



Series: even as a shadow (even as a dream) [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Break Up, F/M, Fear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tevinterr/pseuds/tevinterr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he remembers how surprised he was when she first began showing interest in him, the glow in her eyes as he told her of his journeys and how ardently he was drawn to them, honey-colored and warm, inviting — it should never have been more than innocence and intrigue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	colder water.

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: greatest fears - sent by anonymous

he thinks so much he cannot sleep — he lies awake for hours upon hours alone with his thoughts, countless words and images rushing through his mind like the river he brought her to the night before. thoughts like water streaming between blades of grass and washing over rocks turned smooth by years of erosion — he can’t take his mind off of her.

and he certainly can’t stop hearing her voice, the last words she said to him that night, the bite in her voice still gnaws at his chest, bristles in his skull — an itch between his eyes he’ll never get rid of:

_"I never wanted to hurt you."_

_"well, we don’t always get what we want, do we?"_

he is a fool and he’s always been a fool — centuries of knowledge and learned wisdom, walking, sleeping,  dreaming — how many more mistakes will he make before he finally learns from them, he wonders. he remembers how surprised he was when she first began showing interest in him, the glow in her eyes as he told her of his journeys and how ardently he was drawn to them, honey-colored and warm, inviting — it should never have been more than innocence and intrigue.

for a creature so dead set in his ways, so stoic and reserved, so committed to a lonely existence, he is surprised at how easy it was to allow himself to submit himself so fully to another person — the lone wanderer, the solo journeyman whose will can be bent like a branch in the breeze when presented with the idea of a companion, if only for a moment. it is too much.

he twists and turns in his bed, trying in vain to silence his mind, kicks away sheets that are pins and needles on his skin — one day his sorrow will be nothing more than a dull, numb ache in the hollow of his chest, a story short and devoid of glory and empty of love. the lone wanderer will die alone.

_failure._

_he lets the word, etched bluntly and deliberately in the concrete headstone, wash over him like a cold breeze, nighttime air. he reaches toward it, lightly tracing the curves of each letter of her name with his fingertips — her greatest fear is failure._

_he glances over at her, sees she’s looking at him too, standing in front of the marker bearing his name, her head tilted with familiarity — she does not smile, but in her eyes is a warming assurance, one that heats his chest, thawing him._

even in his memories, he can’t take his eyes off of her.

—

she stares up at the ceiling of her quarters, black as the night sky, the whistling of the wind outside her balcony howling a melancholy tune, hollow and empty. her eyes are red and tired, but her mind wanders still, angry and confused — if breathing is a reflex, why can’t she remember how to do it?

fresh tears, hot and furious, spill past her eyelashes and onto her cheeks — she brushes them away indignantly but pauses, fingertips at her cheeks as her mind is washed with colors, blue and green, the yellow of the fireflies as they danced above the crystal clear stream.

_"I was trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me."_

_she leans into his touch, his fingertips brushing lightly on her cheek, warming her in the cool, thin air. he breaks eye contact with her for only a brief second, gaze flitting over the markings on her face, the years of ancestry, of hardship, of belief traced in thin curves and lines worn like armor — she is a wanderer, like him._

_she listens, entranced, his words mist over her like morning on her skin, smooth and serpentine — she is too much his own, too ready and too willing to cast her world aside for his — she is happy and he cannot hurt her._

_"then cast your spell," she whispers._

it is colder water.

she exhales slowly, trying desperately to even her breaths, willing her mind to wander to other things — her attempts are in vain as the voices of her clan, her family, her keeper, her father ring clear as day in her ears, asking her what’s happened to her face, what’s happened to her honor for their culture, for the old gods.

_I gave it away like a noble tosses a coin to a beggar, like it was nothing_ , she’ll tell them.  _I did not even blink as it hit the ground, just left it in my wake as I was whisked away by honeyed whispers from a lithe tongue._

the charm, the vallaslin, the flame in her eyes — gone like pages torn from a weathered tome, replaced with those of discontent and defeat, neatly scrawled in invisible markings on her face.

first to the keeper caught in her prime, like a fox that wandered into the wrong den, thinking it would find its pair and not a pack of wolves — hers is the shorter story.

—

they lie awake in separate beds, on separate sides, in separate rooms.

when sleep takes over and their eyes finally close, she dreams of dying light, of suns setting against twilit skies, of flames doused with water and crackling embers. the lone wanderer dreams of dead foxes.


End file.
